


Still Breathing

by SueG5123



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-04-08 12:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14105652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SueG5123/pseuds/SueG5123
Summary: “Sloan found Mac—she was—and there was an ambulance ride—some adverse reaction with medications—“  “Adverse?  Adverse how?”  Will pulled back...





	1. Dodged a Bullet

_“I’ve sent a car to pick you up, so kiss whoever it is goodbye and get your ass downstairs.”_

_“What the fuck, Charlie?”_

It was two fifteen in the morning, and Will was in the familiar company car, bound for _nofuckingidea._

And Charlie’s snide insinuation hadn’t even been warranted—he’d been alone. 

Will marshaled his indignation. He had a lot of respect for Charlie Skinner—boss, mentor, friend—but this was over the line, being imperiously summoned, no explanation, in the wee hours. This abused the usual boss-subordinate hierarchy. This was disrespectful—exploitive--insulting. Will understood his own value, and he simply couldn’t countenance this. It was time for him and Charlie to have a real _come-to-Jesus_ chat.

During Will’s spate of righteous anger, the car pulled up curbside to New York Presbyterian Hospital.

Charlie had gotten him out of bed for this? Was he sick? What the hell was going on?

Picking his way past the usual milling mass of the hurting and the frightened, he wandered down a corridor until some woman in surgical scrubs redirected him to a smaller, curtained waiting area.

“Glad to see you were able to extricate yourself,” Charlie said by way of greeting.

Sloan sat nearby, working her phone.

“I was alone,” Will maintained, but curiosity had begun to dilute his pique. “What’s this all about, Charlie?” He inclined his head to indicate Sloan. “Did everyone at work get invited to the ER for a fun-filled Friday night, or are you playing favorites with us?”

“MacKenzie—“

“She’s here, too?” He looked for her in the room.

“No—I mean, yes, she’s here.” Charlie sighed and made a face, determined to start over again. “Sloan found Mac—she was—and there was an ambulance ride—some adverse reaction with medications—“

“Adverse? Adverse how?” Will pulled back involuntarily. He didn’t know Mac took any prescriptive medicines; she had always seemed to regard anything more potent than aspirin as the devil’s tool.

“—Well, there might have been too many—or the wrong ones, together—and perhaps some alcohol—“

Will frowned, trying to get his head around the image Charlie was painting. “Mac combined booze and pills? MacKenzie?” he shook his head. “I have a hard time believing—I mean, she’s too smart to—“ He stopped, the words simply not there and no will to chase after them. “But she’s okay?”

“She’s here.” Charlie shrugged. “We’re still waiting to find out.”

Will spun to face Sloan. “What the fuck happened?”

“Slow down, Romeo,” she batted back, in no mood for whatever ‘tude he harbored at this time of the morning. “Mac and I had a few drinks after the show—it wasn’t a drunk-fest. I mean, I had no way of knowing she was taking—and then, later, I got worried, so I called—“

“Worried? What made you worry?”

“She was down, you know—really down. Even more morose than usual. Anyway, I called later and couldn’t get an answer. You know Mac—she’d pick up the phone no matter what. So it bothered me enough that I stopped by.” Sloan brought her chin up and her tone became a touch more defiant. “It was the thing on Page Six, I’m sure of it. She saw it and it put her into some kind of funk.” At the confused expressions of Charlie and Will she insisted, “Aw c’mon. You know what I’m talking about—“

“Haven’t a clue! And I’m getting tired of having to drag every word out of you, Sloan.”

“That photo of you—“

Charlie made a slashing motion. “We are not going to re-hash this here.”

“Re-hash? I missed the original _hashing_ , so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get caught up. And for what it’s worth, Page Six isn’t on my daily reading list, so I don’t know whatever it is you’re referring to.”

She held up her phone, the web page clearly displayed on the screen. “You and your girlfriend—“

“She’s not my—“

“Whatever she is,” Sloan hissed. “If you wanna be a little man-slut, fine—but can you at least try to keep a lid on your exploits to limit the collateral damage?”

“You’re jumping to conclusions on very little evidence.”

“ _Pictures_ , Will.” She scrolled the images on the screen for effect.

“ _Circumstantial_ , Sloan. There’s nothing between me and Nina Howard—that’s—“ He struggled to think of an explanation before finally deciding the better course was simply to stick with outright denial, “That’s just some tabloid trash that I’m surprised either MacKenzie or you would pay any attention to. Besides, you’re sure this has nothing to do with that prosecutor she was seeing?” It was instinctive, the hitting back, even though he knew the weakness of the argument as he made it.

In frustration, he turned back to Charlie. 

“I asked you to meet us here, Will, because I thought that—possibly—you might find it within yourself to stop this death-by-a-thousand cuts that you seem determined to inflict—“

A voice interrupted. “McHale family?” 

“Right here,” Charlie flagged the doctor over. “You might say we’re the work family—there’s no _family_ family nearby—“

The particulars didn’t seem to matter to this tired doctor. “She’s in Recovery, still sedated. We’ll want to keep her for a day or two, for observation.” He flipped a few pages on his iPad. “She was prescribed some fairly powerful MAOIs—“ Seeing that they weren’t following, he added, “psychotropics, anti-depressants. Those medications react badly with alcohol and that’s probably what caused tonight’s little episode.”

“But there was blood—“ Sloan pressed, enjoying Will’s sharp intake of breath and shocked expression from the corner of her eye.

“Small laceration to the scalp, probably sustained when she fell. Those sorts of wounds can bleed a lot, but this one doesn’t appear to be serious.” The arm holding the tablet dropped back to his side and the doctor blinked behind his glasses. “In any event, there isn’t much you can do for your friend right now, so it would probably be best if you went home for now and came back tomorrow—er, later this morning.”

The three of them stood there, thinking, as the doctor withdrew and left them alone again.

“I didn’t know she—“ Will started before stopping. “I mean, when did she—“

“I predict we’re going to find that all the clues have been in front of us for a long time, and we’ve simply been too slow—or reluctant—to put them together.” Charlie looked at the wall clock and then to Will. “Did you tell the car to wait?” When the younger man shook his head, Charlie sighed. “Well, we can just share cab, then.”

“Somebody should tell Jim,” Will mentioned absently.

“I’ll do it,” Sloan volunteered without enthusiasm for the task.

 

Even alert, Mac looked tiny and lost in the hospital bed. 

Sloan pushed her way in, hoping the attendant noise and bustle would give her time to think of what to say. It always helped to have a prop at such moments, she’d found, so she plopped the strategic stack of magazines on the bedside table.

“So you don’t get bored.”

Mac’s voice was a hoarse whisper but firm despite that. “Haven’t been awake long enough to be bored. But thanks.” 

“I wanted to bring coffee, but wasn’t sure the prison guards would permit it. Also, I sorta thought perhaps Jell-O might be the only thing on the menu for a day or two.”

Small nod in response.

“Mac—I’m _so_ , so—if I had known, if I’d had any idea you were on meds—I mean, I would’ve never suggested getting drinks, let alone what we must have—“

“Don’t worry—“ Mac lifted a hand to shut down the apology.

Sloan interrupted the attempt. “Worry? Of course I’m going to worry! All those pills—anti-depressants—Mac, when did that happen? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“Sloan—this is complicated—” 

“Only if complicated refers to the number of meds in your bathroom cabinet. Tell me you haven’t been doing this for all the time I’ve known you.”

“I haven’t.” There followed a long pause while Mac appeared to struggle for the precise words she wanted to use. “There was time—right after my time over there—well, things weren’t going so well and I saw doctors and clinicians,” shrugging, “and things got prescribed. Sometimes I would take them, and sometimes I’d just—“

“Try to gut it out?” Sloan crossed her arms in front of her, trying to look stern and reprimanding. “So, you saw doctors, and they prescribed medicines, like antidepressants and sleep aids. How much are you taking, and why didn’t you tell me, and, especially, when you knew there might be an interaction, why did you—“

“I got so I didn’t need—so I stopped taking them. And I kind of forgot they were there until—”

“Until this week’s Page Six story about Will and Nina Howard.” When Mac failed to respond, Sloan filled the vacuum with more words. “That isn’t your fault, Mac.”

“That’s on me, too,” she insisted, bitterly. “But even apart from that, let’s tally things up. There’s been a trail of screw-ups since I came back. The goat-rope over the Arizona HB 1070 and allowing Will to be humiliated on-air, which was entirely my fault in not better supervising these young producers. Then, I nearly got a young stringer killed in Tahir Square—“

When Sloan made as if to protest, Mac shook her head and continued.

“Having to drop the whole Operation Clarity investigation simply because we didn’t adequately vet the source. The tabloid trash we’ve had to cover just for a chance at covering the RNC debates—which, by the way, we were _never_ going to get anyway because of _me_.” She took a deep breath and continued. “And that’s not even considering the shambles of my personal life. Like _Wade_ —who rates serious demerits in both the personal and professional columns. _Brian_ and that exercise in professional mortification he authored—that’s entirely at my door, because he wouldn’t have written it with that level of vitriol without believing that I dumped him for—“

_Will. Always the elephant in the room._

“So, you see, it’s all on me. I probably even pushed _him_ at _her_ because of how shitty I’ve made everything at work.”

“Absolutely not true,” Sloan countered. She had held her silence, thinking that it was better that everything on Mac’s mind be aired, but now she felt compelled to respond. “None of the events you cited in the newsroom are your fault—hell, sometimes things just happen. Like Fukushima,” she huffed a bitter laugh. “Wade was an opportunistic heel and Brian is a jerk. The RNC made a stupid decision for a stupid reason and Will called them out on it, remember?”

“Anyway—it—last night—wasn’t intentional, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Mac’s voice became halting but more deliberate, underscoring the sad reflection that had obviously gone into her verdict. “I mis-dosed and that, combined with the drinks and a mostly empty stomach—but the thing is, Sloan, after I realized what was happening, I wasn’t really alarmed. Surprised—perhaps chagrinned—it just seemed like karma, you know. The last negligible step in a long series of fuck-ups.”

Mac dropped her eyes and didn’t respond. She tugged the thin hospital sheet a little higher. “I think—I think I’ve turned a corner, Sloan. I’m going to call my doctor—get back into some therapy—check out some other options—“

“As in, _employment_ options?”

She ducked the question. “Things can’t continue like this. I don’t think I can bury my feelings when it comes to Will, so that means that producing this show will always be—“

“—Torture?”

“ _Problematic_.” She forced another smile. “Anyway, just something I’m thinking about. I need to talk to Charlie. I want him to know I’m not–unstable or anything—“

“Charlie knows that, Mac. In fact, I’m surprised he isn’t here now.”

“Called while I was still sleeping. Left word he’d be over later.”

“Jim?”

“Just before you got here.”

By omission, Sloan inferred that Will had not been by this morning, and it didn’t seem worth bringing up his presence the night before. It would just hurt Mac to learn that the only reason Will had shown up was because Charlie had deliberately omitted the reason for the summons.

Even Charlie wasn’t entirely sure where Will stood.

Needing something to change the trajectory of the conversation, she noted, “Nice flowers.”

“Jim couldn’t find a card.” Mac huffed a short laugh. “Perhaps they were delivered to the wrong room.”

“Well, keep them anyway. It’s a pretty arrangement.” Sloan fanned through the magazines she’d brought and pulled one to the top of the stack. “This month’s _Economist_. While you’re here, this would be a good time for you to get caught up on the Greek bond issue—“

“Sloan, there will _never_ be a good time for me to read about Greek bonds.” Mac was beginning to sound like herself again.

“I plan to devote seven minutes to it on Tuesday night.”

“On _News Night_? Not while I live and breathe, Sloan.”

_Mission accomplished._


	2. Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

“When do we get it? I don’t understand why this is taking so long. Are you sure we shouldn’t just—“

Will sighed, his scant patience already exhausted by Jim’s misgivings. “She said three—there’s only been two—the third would’ve been Saturday, but I canceled, you know, after what happened—“

Nodding, Jim added his own sigh. He remembered what forced the cancellation.

Mac. Hospital. The sum of which had stopped everything, forced them to second guess the strategy.

Jim resumed. “What I’m saying is that I didn’t think she would find out—this was all about preventing that, if you’ll remember—because you know I’d never buy into anything that would hurt—“

Will’s eyes flicked up and Jim turned around to see Sloan framed in the doorway.

“ _She_ ,” Sloan echoed, thoughtfully, before a pregnant pause. “Well, guys— _she’s_ here. If you’re referring to me, that is.” She let it register, before adding, “Of course, perhaps you had another _she_ in mind?”

Moving quickly toward the door, Jim looked back to Will. “I’d better go—someone’s probably looking for me—and there’s probably a pitch meeting somewhere that I should—“ He de-materialized.

Will laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Sloan,” he appraised, with a slow blink and no follow-on words.

Determined to stare him down, she moved closer. “Will.” But she lacked the moxie to pull it off, so after only five seconds, she yielded. “I know there’s something going on here.”

“Jim’s having, um, some relationship problems. Lisa—or Liesel—whatever—”

“You don’t strike me as the type to offer advice to lonely hearts, ‘bro.”

He shrugged. 

“I think this has something to do with Mac—”

He lifted an eyebrow. 

“—But I don’t know what.” She stopped for a moment, then brightened, as if possessed by a sudden epiphany. “You could tell me. After all, you and I have known each other longer than you’ve known Jim.”

Long pause. “Nope.”

Sloan took a deep breath and narrowed her eyes, undecided whether she should proceed. Finally, she couldn’t resist poking at what she intuited might be a sore spot.

“By the way, Mac’s back at work today. I assumed that was what you and Jim—“

He broke his gaze and reached to move some papers around on his desk, feigning disinterest. “Is she all better now?”

In his studied indifference, however, Sloan read confirmation of her suspicions, so she probed a bit more. 

“ _She?_ ”

Impatiently. “You know. _Mac_.”

“Oh. _Mac_.” Confident she was on the right trail now, Sloan shifted her weight. “Mac’s okay. It would take more than that to keep her down.”

“So she’s well and back to normal?”

Sloan shook her head theatrically and understated, “Not necessarily—“

He looked up.

“I think Mac’s telling Charlie she’s leaving.”

“Leaving?”

“ACN.”

“Sloan, could you possibly answer the questions as I ask them and stop screwing with me?“

“Not screwing, ‘bro. I’ll leave that to _others_.” She let that phrase hang, surveying the damage in his expression. He didn’t look angry; he looked guilty.

“Why would she want to—“ He stopped and abruptly changed tack. “Jim was just here and he didn’t seem to know anything about her leaving—“

“I’m guessing she hasn’t figured out exactly how to tell him yet.”

“I’m the first one she needs to tell. She works for me.”

“And you’ve made it pretty clear how one-sided that relationship is, too,” Sloan sniffed. “Anyway, for a moment the other morning at the hospital— for just a fraction of a moment—you sounded almost, I don’t know—as if you might be owning up to what you—that is, I thought I saw something in you that reacted to Mac and that maybe—“

“Maybe what?”

“—That maybe after the way you’ve tormented her—“

“Me?” His shields went up. “Perhaps you haven’t heard this story, Sloan, but—“

“But—“ she latched onto the end of his sentence. “But then there was the most humiliating contract since—how was it you put it?—Antonio took a loan from Shylock. Bringing in Brenner to write that article. Parading all the comely lasses every night.” She bent across the desk, into his space. “Rolling around in the hay with that—that—“

“Nina Howard?” 

“Wasn’t exactly the phrase I had in mind. I was going to be a bit more descriptive.”

“So, you’re here to bust my balls about a couple of dates with Nina Howard?”

“No, I’m here to bust your balls about the way you treat Mac. Sleeping with the enemy is just a part of it.”

He dropped his eyes. “We’re not—it isn’t that way—it’s just a couple of evenings out. Not everything is what it appears.”

“Well then, why don’t you work toward making it not _appear_ at all? The tabloids had a field day last week with all the column inches about you and that gossip queen—I mean, I hope you’ve gotten a royalty on the word count.” She waited until he looked up again. “It’s been brutally effective, Will, and you know it.“

 

The tiny bit of real information Sloan provided had provoked Will even more than her insinuations. Those simply annoyed him. 

_Anyway—the ends would justify the means, right?_

But the news that Mac was contemplating leaving the show—ACN— _him_ —that stung. Moreover, it was a complication neither he nor Jim had foreseen, even with the near-tragic events of the previous weekend.

Sloan had probably gotten it all wrong. Mac was probably just going to take some time off. That was probably a good thing, in light of everything, and she doubtless had accrued vast quantities of paid time-off. 

Will was also skeptical because Jim hadn’t known anything about Mac potentially leaving. In fact, that was the clincher. No way she’d make a big move without Jim knowing.

Anyway, like the good journalist he was supposed to be, Will sought verification. A top-notch source.

He barreled past Millie’s desk and into Charlie’s office, where the older man squinted at the computer screen.

Charlie threw up a cautionary hand. “Be with you in a minute,” he said, then mouthed theatrically, “Straight flush.”

Will dropped into a chair, resigned to waiting while the aged virtual adolescent and an unseen actual adolescent bluffed each other through on-line poker. To pass the time, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through messages.

Missed calls.

Nina Howard.

_Shit._

Charlie made a victorious whoop, then pushed back in his chair.

“High stakes?”

“It isn’t the money—it’s the total validation of my poker prowess—the victory of cool deliberation over hot-headed youth,” Charlie grinned. “And also— _twenty-five bucks.”_

Will tried to return the conversation to something worthy of the president’s office. 

“Sloan was just in my office, and she hinted that Mac might be thinking of—“

“Leaving. Yeah.” Charlie’s face lost its ebullience. “She was just here. Mac, I mean. I gave her a fatherly talking-to—buck up, take care of yourself, things will get better, you’ll get back in Control and the red light will go on—“

“Damn straight. She’s coming back even if we have to chop her up, put her in a duffle bag, and reassemble her behind the T-bar of the video switcher.”

“I don’t think it worked, Will.”

“You couldn’t talk her out of it?”

Charlie shrugged. “Tried my damnedest. But—she seemed pretty certain what she wanted. Gave me a formal resignation letter and everything.” His eyes bounced from Will’s to the sole folded sheet in his IN basket. “I asked her to think about it some more, and she—”

“She agreed, right?” Will finished, with some relief, believing he knew how this would end up. Charlie-the-patriarch returning the willful prodigal back to the fold. 

“She said she didn’t need to think about it—that she’d thought about it all weekend, and yesterday. She thanked me and told me she wasn’t going to change her mind.”

“You’re _letting_ her leave?” Will was near apoplectic with disbelief. He had never imagined this turn of events. 

_Things were supposed to get better, not worse._

“It’s her call, Will.”

“Remind her that she has a contract that runs for another year and a half. Tell her we’ll hold her in breach of that contract if she—“

The corner of Charlie’s mouth quirked up into a grim smile. “I’m sure she’d appreciate the irony of that threat, coming as it does from the _prima donna_ who gave back one million cool ones every year just to be able to—“

“—To have some say over my EP, as I always should have had,” Will countered. “Someone in my position has to be able to rely implicitly on the EP.”

“As I recall, you were initially somewhat resistant to the idea of Mac as your EP.”

“I’ve—uh, I’ve gotten used to her. Again.” A new possibility burrowed up from Will’s subconscious. “Wait, is there some reason—I mean, _medically_ , could there be something that she isn’t telling us?”

“Well, she said she had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, but I assumed it was simply routine follow up. I told her to take all the time she needed. But I don’t think there’s anything more to this episode than the tragic interaction of a whole bunch of meds with a distressing number of syllables.” Pause. “Why don’t you talk to her?”

“What?”

“Talk. To. Her. Communicate. If you want her to stay on as your EP, tell her. Did you talk to her at the hospital?”

“I—I, uh, never got to actually talk—“

Charlie shook his head. “I really thought you’d come around eventually, Will. It was the only reason I dragged you to the hospital the other night, the thought that you might show a little decency to a colleague, a teammate, someone responsible in large part for the success of your show.” 

Long seconds of silence hung between them.

“Well. I’d better go work on tonight’s script.”

“You do that. Oh—and do the show a favor. Tone down this stuff with your TMI lady-friend. I don’t know what your intentions are, or even if you have any, but it’s hurting people.”

 

Smarting from the reprimand, Will left Charlie’s office and detoured to Mac’s. He wasn’t entirely sure what he would say to her, but he thought he should take the temperature, gauge her state of mind. But Mac’s office was dark and empty—probably the doctor’s appointment Charlie had mentioned. He retreated to his own office, intending to think a bit before the final rundown.

Jim was waiting for him.

“You need to turn this off. We’re doing more harm than good. When you told me you were going to stop Nina Howard from publishing whatever it was she threatened, I was cool with that. It was a good deed, and particularly a good deed for Mac. We agreed it was the lesser of two evils. But I didn’t realize the repercussions—“

Will opened a drawer for cigarettes. Zilch. He tried another. “Repercussions,” he echoed, while searching. “What kind of repercussions?”

“ _This_ ,” Jim bleated in exasperation. “Mac taking the wrong drugs together the other night. And now she’s talking about leaving.”

“More than talking. I just saw Charlie and he’s got a letter of resignation on his desk.” Will slammed the third drawer, realizing now that there were no cigarettes to be found.

“You see? You’ve got to stop this. Just give Nina money to kill the story.”

“She doesn’t want money.”

“No, but she’d probably take it in a pinch. Those photos of you and blondie are taking a bigger toll on Mac than I ever thought possible—“

Will was uncomfortable with this tangent. “So, we should let Nina just publish whatever trashy innuendo she’s picked up—or made up?”

There was a pause, then Jim said, quietly, “It isn’t innuendo.” His mouth twisted and he made anxious motions with his hands. “I mean, I wasn’t there. I heard some things later and I asked Mac to tell me what happened that day—I figure she downplayed it for my benefit, but if even part of it gets in the wrong hands…” He swallowed and wet his lips. “Will, this would really rip the bandage off a lot of old wounds.”

“Sounds like we’re back to the old dilemma, then. Stay the course and hurt Mac’s feelings—“

“—While you’re pretending to romance the tabloid tart. That is, if you’re pretending,” Jim interjected with some heat, unhappy at how Will always managed to trivialize the emotions of others.

“ _Or_ ,” Will continued pointedly, “surrender now and risk Nina Howard going to press with a story that will hurt Mac professionally and re-open what you say are bad memories.”

The younger man exhaled loudly and rubbed at the back of his neck. “This was a bad idea. I should have known better than to—“ his voice trailed off.

“I’ll talk to her. Convince her to stay.” 

Jim eyed him coldly. “I’m not sure that you talking to Mac right now is a good idea. You might say too much, or the wrong thing. It might catapult her into a decision, a really bad decision.”

“She’ll stay if I ask her.” Charlie had said as much, hadn’t he? It had to be true. Mac always put Will’s needs above her own. If he told her he needed her—for the show—she’d stay. He was sure of it.

Jim looked unconvinced.

“Rundown.” Will inclined his head at the clock.

“Yeah. You coming?”

“Will Mac be there?”

“She should be back by now.”

“I’m coming—unless you object to my sharing oxygen with her.” 

Perhaps Jim had a point. Perhaps this had gotten out of hand.

It had started simply enough two weeks earlier, when, during a commercial break in the show, Gary Cooper had sidled up to the anchor desk where Jim was passing notes to Will. Gary relayed Maria-of-Morningside’s apology, but then off-handedly asked, “Did Mac almost get her crew killed during an incident in Pakistan?” The chaser was that Nina Howard was preparing a take-down piece on _News Night_ by way of derogatory information about Mac. 

That, of course, had led to that three-way secret meeting in the backroom at Hang Chew’s, between Will and his checkbook and the TMI gossip columnist.

_“All right, the ethics of Wade Campbell coming on the show, that was fair game. You had every right to run that.”_

_His largesse made her smirk._

_“But to say that Mac almost got someone killed—“ Pulling out his checkbook, he hoped he looked as repulsed as he felt. He just wanted to get this over with and all there was to negotiate was the number of zeroes on the check._

_Nina made a short derisive bark. “I'm running a piece saying you hired an incompetent EP because she was your girlfriend and she dumped you.”_

_“I hired the best EP in broadcasting in spite of her being my ex-girlfriend who dumped me.”_

_“You know, you guys up there are millionaires—“_

_“—I'm the only millionaire up there—“_

_“—And celebrities—“_

_“—I'm the only celebrity up there.”_

_“Not anymore.” Her smile was malignant. “That ex-girlfriend of yours will be a minor celebrity in her own right in just a few days.”_

_“How does this work, Nina?” He torqued his jaw and let his pen hover over the check, waiting for her to disclose the amount she wanted._

_“I had in mind something—well, something more bankable than money. Something with a longer shelf life.”_

_He was puzzled. This had seemed like such a straightforward encounter. A simple negotiation. Extortion 101._

_“Will, I’m a career girl. Gotta protect and further my professional prospects.”_

_“You want me to—hire you?”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t aspire to do what you high-minded folk do up there in the clouds. All I want is a little name recognition for future viability.”_

_“Name recognition,” he repeated dully, still not grasping her meaning._

_“Contact with a little celebrity—just enough to let some of the stardust fall over me.” She saw that he still wasn’t getting it, so she dropped the euphemisms. “Ask me out, Will.”_

_His hand slammed to the tabletop, upsetting the still-untouched drinks he’d ordered. “I want this to stop. I was rude to you at a party and I apologize. But it—“_

_“Be a bigger narcissist, Will. You think this is happening because you didn't take me home on New Year's Eve? I have something you want and you have something I need.” She paused importantly to put out her proposal. “We go out two—no, make it three times, to places where we can be seen together in the right circles.”_

_“I’m supposed to take you on a date?”_

_“You’re not listening. Three—dates, if you want to call them that. Public events, because I’m not that kind of girl.” She managed an arch smile. “I ensure there’s a little press, for which I reap the benefit, and you—well, you’re already a celebrity and you’ve already been dumped, so there’s really no downside, is there? Let’s start with the Young Lions Fiction Award Dinner Tuesday night, shall we? After all, we both work in letters, you might say.”_

_He ignored the jibe. “What do I get? I mean, aside from the dubious honor of being your arm-candy?”_

_She slid a flashdrive across the table, never releasing it from under her finger._

_“You get what MacKenzie would prefer didn’t become common knowledge.” She took a sip of the Cosmo he’d thoughtfully provided, then retracted the hand with the flashdrive._

_“How do I know there aren’t other copies?”_

_“Scout’s honor.”_

_Nina didn’t look like she had ever been a scout._

_Will persisted. “Is this the final price? I mean—once and forever – no continuing extortion—“_

_“That’s all. Just you as my escort to three social events that I select.”_

It seemed too easy.

And it was.

 

Mac wasn’t at the final rundown meeting. 

As Will entered the conference room, Jim stood at the dry erase board, ticking off the stories for the evening’s broadcast.

“Okay. At the top, President Obama, House Republicans, and Senate Democrats agree on a week-long stopgap spending bill preventing a government shutdown. Next, there’s Greece’s refusal to implement IMF austerity measures and the implications for Ireland and Portugal.”

“Is Sloan—?” 

“She’ll carry the piece, you just bookend and ask a question or two.”

Will looked around. “If she’s carrying the piece, why isn’t she here now?”

Jim ducked his head in acknowledgement. “Good question, and I’ll chase her down before air time, confirm that she has this.” He turned back to the board. “In B block, continuing U.S. troop withdrawal from Iraq, on schedule to meet the December deadline. Over 4,000 defense contractors are expected to remain, as well as State Department staffs at the embassy in Bagdad and the consulates in Basra, Mosul, and Kirkuk. Mike Tapley will have the projected numbers and the milestones for departures.”

“Good,” Will made a note to his yellow legal tablet.

“Okay, here’s where Will can make a choice. We have a story about an Air France Airbus colliding with a Delta/Comair regional jet on a taxiway at JFK. No injuries, but this is the third incident this year and it brings into question the spatial taxiway requirements for—“ He looked up. “Yes?”

Jenna hung in the door. “Phone message,” nodding at Will sitting at the end of the table.

At Jim’s nod, she hurried to pass the note to Will, who looked at it and crumpled it.

“Now, where was I? Right—NTSB requirements for wingspans on existing airport taxiways. We’ve got a spokesman from the Office of Aviation Safety—“

“Sounds pretty, um, dry,” Will noted. “You said a choice—what’s the other?”

“Rupert Murdoch’s News of the World will put out its final issue on July 10th, closing a storied Fleet Street outlet. It’s being shuttered for involvement in recent phone hacking scandals, and—yes?” Jim looked a little testy at this new interruption.

Sloan was at the door.

He gestured to the producers around the table. “Meeting. You should join us.”

“Jim, I need to speak with you. It’s important,” she insisted.

He hesitated, then tossed his dry erase marker to Kendra. “Cover for me while I find out what this is about.”

Kendra looked to Will. “Like the man said, it’s your choice.”

“Airbus story. But I want to know who from Aviation Safety is coming.” Then, in an aside, “Fleet Street phone hacks don’t mean anything here.”

Kendra crossed through one of the items on the board and offhandedly tasked Tess with following up with a booker. “All right. Everything else is just technical, so if you need to go, Will—“

He departed, his pad in one hand and the crumpled phone message in the other.

Nina. _Again._

He couldn’t put this off much longer.

 

During the first break in the show, Will spoke into his mic with a voice intended for Control. “Mac, I need to talk to you.”

Kendra’s voice came back. “What can we get for you, Will?”

“Put Mac on, will you?”

“Um, Mac’s not here. Don stepped out, but I can get him if you—“

_This was live air and Mac wasn’t there? Why the hell hadn’t he been notified?_

“I’ll get Don.”

“I don’t want Don. Get Jim.”

“He’s not here, either. It’s just Don and me tonight, so if we can—“

Herb interrupted with the count-in. “Back in five—four—three—two—“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU is based on a couple of prompts by Lilacmermaid. As a consequence, I’ve changed some of the chronology of first season events, mainly moving Nina's mischief to the spots where I needed it.


	3. The Unblinking Eye

Will pushed through the glass door separating the studio from the corridor to Control.

“Where is she? Where the fuck is anyone—“

“I’m right here,” Don cooed, trying to disarm Will’s ire. “I’ve had you all night and there’s—“

“Where’s my staff? Where’s Mac?”

Blinking, Don took a step back. The show had actually gone well—that is, after Will stopped bellowing into his mic pack. Change upset him, everyone got that, but this last minute substitution couldn’t have been helped. Moreover, he and Will had worked together before—it may not have been sunshine and lollipops every day, but there should have been enough residual trust between them to—

“Where is she?”

“Mac still wasn’t feeling well—“

Ah, yes. The interruption to the final rundown meeting, where Mac had been a no-show and Sloan had mysteriously spirited Jim away, too.

Jenna appeared at Will’s elbow. “Call holding on your line. She’s—”

With a glare at Don, Will made a growl and stalked toward his office. Then, loosening his tie and popping open the top button of his collar, he wrenched the phone from its cradle.

“Yeah, Nina. I was just about to call.”

 

“You weren’t here yesterday.” 

Will leaned through the open door, his tone mildly accusatory.

It was Wednesday and Mac was at her usual place, the desk littered with newspapers and legal tablets and pillars of clumsily stacked manila folders. A spray of brightly colored highlighters was scattered over it all, and Mac, readers pushed halfway down her nose, capped one as he eased into the office.

She looked up. “I had to leave.”

He allowed the door to close before beginning again.

“Nobody told me, so it was a surprise. A surprise _on air_. You know how I don’t like surprises on air.”

“I do know and I’m—sorry.” 

“Somebody should have told me—you could’ve said something, Mac. I mean, I thought we—”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “Someone should have told you,” she agreed, then amended her words to say what she knew he wanted to hear. “ _I_ should have.” She looked nervous. “I didn’t feel well. It was better that Don handle the show.”

“Not Jim?”

“Jim saw me home.”

He canted his head, straining to pierce the reserve she was so plainly clutching around her. “Is everything okay, Mac?”

“I won’t be leaving early tonight, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll be in your ear throughout the show.”

“Well, nice to know, but what I mean is, are you feeling all right? After, you know, the other night?”

She broke eye contact and looked down. “Will, you should know that I’ve given Charlie my resignation.”

“He told me. He also told me he didn’t accept it.”

She made an ironic harrumph and shook her head. “In the end, it doesn’t matter if he does or doesn’t.”

“I beg to differ. You have a contract.”

“I’ve asked to be released from it.”

“ACN’ll hold you in breach.” Even as he said it, he knew it was the argument of an officious prick scoring a cheap point. He should be asking other questions—like why—but he didn’t want to take the focus off her shortcomings to spotlight his own.

“Charlie won’t allow that. You know he won’t.” She was looking at him directly again. “Jim can handle the show until you find someone.”

“I don’t want Jim handling my show, I want—well, I want you.” Although still wanting in feeling, it seemed like admission enough for this moment—just the bald statement that he wanted her to continue to helm the show. Whether it was because she was the best, or he had some residual feeling for her, or he was simply inimical to change of any kind—well, all that could be dealt with later, couldn’t it?

She closed her eyes for a few long seconds, obviously regrouping. “It’s just that I—I need some time—need to sort through—“

He snorted. “Hell, you’ve probably accrued two months’ vacation time. Why don’t you just take a couple of weeks off?”

“—I need some space—“

“So, fly to Montana—Calgary— _Thule_ —“

“Friday’s my last night, Will.”

That sucked all the air from the room. Finally, he managed, “You’re just going to abandon the show?”

That, at last, seemed to raise her hackles. “Abandon? Seriously— _abandon_? I rather thought you might be—relieved—even anxious to go in new directions. You’ve certainly indicated as much personally—“ 

As she said it, his eyes fell upon the odious _Page Six_ from the previous week, open on her desk.

She paused, and then released a breath. “Will, the show has momentum. It’ll still have momentum even if I’m not here. Simply continue to push the edges. Jim will help.”

There was a long silence. 

“I can’t believe this is what you want.”

“That’s your prerogative.” Her words would have been all the more believable but for the slight quaver in her voice.

“You know, Mac, that delicate air of martyrdom you’ve cultivated isn’t as attractive as you think.” The retort came as most of his did, without thought or consideration, and instantly he regretted the words.

But she had no reaction beyond a long blink. “Friday night,” she repeated.

 

Jim’s head hung in the door. “Maggie said you wanted to see me.”

Will gestured for him to enter completely, and Jim complied, albeit with a guilty look around.

“What’s up?”

“Mac’s talking about leaving.”

Jim crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, but made no response.

“You knew about this?”

“She’s talked about leaving since the week after she got here,” Jim hemmed. “I think, at first, it was just reaction to those rough first few weeks. A lot of pressure to perform—plus, you constantly on her ass. There was some little office rumor that you had a clause put in her contract—”

“ _My_ contract,” Will interrupted, before realizing how much of an asshole the clarification made him appear.

“Okay. _Your_ contract.” Jim let that settle meaningfully before continuing. “Then, it sort of morphed into an ironic running joke. You know, like, _Bad day in Control, guess this will be my last week_.”

“But something’s changed now.”

The younger man’s jaw worked. “Yes—and no. I mean, she came with baggage. From before. You probably never noticed—“

“Mac and I are cool, okay? Whatever happened between us a few years ago—well, we’ve put it aside for the sake of—” 

Jim interrupted, testily. “What I was going to say was, there are things that don’t wash away when you leave a war zone. That’s the baggage she came with. Although, of course, whatever happened between the two of you doesn’t help.”

A long pause hung between them.

“Look, I don’t know what Nina has or if she has anything. But something has been eating at Mac. There’s been a long string of doctors that I know of, and there’s been a few episodes—“

“Episodes of what?”

“Can’t you guess? Anyway, there was one last week that I know you’re aware of, because we all met at the hospital in the wee hours.” He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Will. I’ve never known what your motivation is in this thing between Mac and the gossip queen. Whether you’re just trying to protect someone on the team, or whether you’d just like to stick it to Nina. It’s great that you want to help.” Beat. “Of course, it would’ve been greater if you’d wanted to help _earlier_. Before things got so bad that she—“

“That’s what I’m getting at. Something changed. What was it?”

“I don’t think all the recent media attention you’ve gotten lately has helped.”

“It isn’t like you don’t know why there’s been that media attention. I’ve been trying to do something for Mac, to protect her—“

“You can’t do the bare minimum two weeks after it needed doing and still expect everyone to be eternally grateful,” Jim lobbed back with uncharacteristic passion. “I don’t know what your real motive is. I know there was something between you and Mac once, something that ended pretty badly. For what it’s worth, she told me it was all her fault. But, from what I’ve seen, you haven’t missed many occasions in the last year or so to rub her nose in it when you could.”

“I’m trying to help now,” Will maintained.

“Yeah, well—assuming it isn’t already too late—try _harder_.”

 

Will made an effort to be more congenial Thursday. He held his criticism during the pitch meeting, when one young A.P. actually proposed an instructional segment on dog CPR, and foreswore arguing with Mac on the sequencing of stories, allowing her to prioritize an update on the Syrian siege of Deir al-Zour over the riots in Tottenham. He had to concede her selection had scale; he just wasn’t sure it made for an audience connection. Nonetheless, he held his peace.

The slate seemed firm and balanced by the final rundown. 

Until the wheels came off.

A junior wanna-be whose name Will didn’t know leaned in through the door and shared the screen of his smart phone with Jim.

“Okay, people, listen up. AP says a U.S. military helicopter is down southwest of Kabul—a CH-47 Chinook.” Jim stabbed a finger at Gary. “Need to know which of our units are operating there and whether there’s been any recent skirmishes. Tess, we’ll need a spokesman from DoD—“

At this, Mac chimed in. “Call CENTCOM direct. Fewer layers, quicker response. And, Kendra, see if you can locate Mike Tapley.”

Jim spied Maggie hurrying for the exit. “Maggie, wait, I need—“

“I know, aircraft manufacturer’s safety record.”

“Boeing,” he called after her.

Her hand went up in a backhanded wave as the door closed. “Knew that, too.”

With the staff dispersed, Mac turned back to Jim. “One hour till air. Let’s be prepared to push A and B blocks to the second half.” She dipped her chin and looked at Will, standing at the far end of the table. “If this turns out to be anything, you’ll have to carry it.”

He nodded understanding.

Confirmation came quickly, and the iNews alert flashed scarlet to underscore both the urgency of the news and the gravity. _Fallen Angel_ , the CENTCOM spokesman called it. A Chinook aircraft laden with military spec-ops troops, shot down by a Taliban RPG. Thirty-eight military personnel had been on board, but there was still no confirmation as to their status.

_Fallen Angel._

When Joey made up the Breaking News card, that was the phrase emblazoned on it.

As soon as Mac saw it, she knew it was just a matter of time until the reaction set in.

 

Mac’s mouth was dry and she pushed back hard against the wall, using the reassuring pressure to distract from the random but familiar images replaying before her. Squeezing her eyes closed was no relief.

_Just get through this_ , a voice echoed in her mind. 

She’d sent Jim home early, telling him he would need to be fresh for tomorrow, when the casualty count was confirmed and more information known. Dayside would need the expertise. She had to get him out of Control before he became aware of the sudden tremor in her hand, the slight hitch in her voice.

No one else might notice, but Jim would.

There had been none of the usual overt triggers—loud noises, smells of petroleum and burning rubber, bright flashes—had tripped, but she had known to flee for a safe space.

Her breaths came in rapid halting gasps, and she pressed further back against the wall, attempting to make herself smaller. It helped to have the sturdiness of walls, of a floor, of flat, finite surfaces that concealed nothing and offered some protection. Absent a closet in her office, wedging herself between the credenza and the wall afforded the most safety.

Mac’s palms were slick and cold, and her trembling had become a shudder that seemed to emanate from deep within. Even with eyes tightly closed, the images played in an endless loop in her mind. She couldn’t blot them out.

_Trauma changes your brain_ , Dr. Gavin had told her. _It short-circuits emotions, takes you from calm to panic like zero to sixty._

There were relentless voices, and the air very hot. Everything was very close, very loud. The blast, when it came, was concussive and pushed her into the warmth of another body.

“Mac?”

Numbness began to drain away and the thudding of her pulse in her own ears diminished. She was conscious of steady pressure on one hand.

“Mac?” 

Will’s voice. “Everything’s okay, Kenz. Why don’t you open your eyes now?”

And because she never denied him anything, she did.

He was on one knee in front of her, frowning with concern.

When she realized he was holding her hand, she attempted to jerk it back, but his closed, keeping hers in place.

“How about a little water?”

She nodded acquiescence, and only then did he release her hand and pass her a glass.

“Have a little more,” he coached, indicating the glass.

She took another sip.

“So, is this a good time to talk about the show?”

She had recovered enough now to detect the trace of amusement around his mouth that let her know he was being gentle, being the old Will. She even managed to huff a short laugh before melting into tears. “This isn’t—I’m not—unstable or any—“

Wiping tears with the back of her hand, she tried to rise. She recognized and was moved by his gallantry, but it embarrassed her, too, and made her feel vulnerable, and all she could think of was the necessity of returning to the status quo. The detachment between anchor and producer.

He helped her up and into the desk chair. He sat on the corner of the desk, still watching her with evident concern.

“You don’t have to—I’m grateful, Will, but I’m better now and you really don’t have to—“

“Your voice didn’t sound right. And they told me you sent Jim home in the middle of breaking news. I mean, I could tell that something strange was happening.“ He looked anxious and a little frustrated. “Is there something I can get for you?”

“You mean, find my meds? Well, the Xanax has sort of turned into its own problem lately—and trading symptoms for over-medication wasn’t working for me. So, no. Nothing.”

_Pack it with dirt_ , the Marines always said.

He paused for half a minute. “I was at the hospital Saturday morning.”

“I wish _I_ hadn’t been.”

He recognized her words as a deflection, so he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “And I want you to know that I think we’re fine, Mac. You and me. We work together well. But I feel—somehow—that, whatever happened tonight, that I may have contributed to whatever you’re feeling—whatever is making you unhappy here now.”

“May have.”

He found himself unable to read her tone as she repeated his words. So, after a pause and a long exhalation, he began again. “Mac, about me and Nina—”

“Will, I am the last person on earth to whom you owe any explanation—”

“Actually, you’re the only person I’d—“ he stopped, struggling with what he needed to say. “I want you to know that it isn’t what it looks like. There’s nothing between us.”

“Then, what are you getting out of this one-sided relationship?”

Her retort took him by surprise, but before he could fumble a response, she answered her own question. “Because you know that if I ever find out you paid a gossip columnist money to protect me, I will beat you senseless.

The threat was reassuring, because it was sounded like Mac. “I didn’t.”

“Good. Because you know I can do it.”

That, at least, seemed to restore some good humor between them, and Will made a small smile.

“Feeling a little better?”

“A little.”

He felt like he needed to say something, needed to clarify about his abortive Nina reference. “Mac—this may not be the time—and we don’t have to—“

“Fallen angel, Will. That was the tripwire. I’ve heard that term before, you know. That’s what they would say when they called for back-up and extraction. I was shooting the fallen angels—“

“Shooting the—?” Perhaps she wasn’t as cogent as she’d seemed just a moment earlier, because nothing was making sense now. “I don’t understand—“

“You want to know what this is about, right? Why I seem a little—“

_Fragile—broken—haunted?_ his mind filled in in the millisecond between her words.

“—Distracted.” She reached for the water again. “Some days are worse than others, and I think the last couple of weeks may have been aggravated by—well, other things—but you deserve an explanation. Because of the other night—because of right now, and also because it’s going to cost you your executive producer—“

He still didn’t want to entertain that thought, so he pivoted to what she’d said earlier.

“I don’t know what you mean about shooting angels.”

“Filming. Recording. _Shooting._ All the euphemisms we get to use when we’re in the field, when the cameras are in our hands and not anchored to the set.” She wet her lips. “My team was split in two military vehicles that day. I was with Staff Sergeant Newitt in the lead vehicle, and my sound man and the fixer were in the other truck with the Gunny and another Marine.”

“Jim?”

Despite the somber subject, she still mustered a tiny snort. “Jim was—indisposed, having recently been the recipient of a butt-wound. Anyway, this was early 2009 and the MRAPs—the mine resistant armored personnel carriers—hadn’t gotten to our AO yet, so the vehicles we were in had only been retrofitted with a bit of plating. The coverage was rather hit-and-miss, so to speak.” She huffed an ironic laugh.

“It was a routine transit—we’d made the trip before. That strip of road was virtually a military highway. There was a bang. IED, probably a remote detonation, since my vehicle had passed unharmed. I grabbed the camera—just reflex by that point—and followed the smoke.” She took a deep breath. “Behind us, the other truck was burning. A body in the road—I found out later it was the Gunny, who had been riding shotgun. Small arms fire began from the other side of the berm. Sergeant Newitt radioed for back-up. I kept recording.”

“It’s what you were there to do.” He felt as though he should offer comfort.

“The incoming fire focused on the disabled vehicle. Newitt tried to return fire to give the others opportunity to escape the burning truck, but he wasn’t armed for a full-on assault.” Another pause. “When it became apparent that that we were going to be next—we still didn’t know if there were survivors or not—we put some distance between us and them. They didn’t pursue us. We waited for back-up from US and ANA forces and I was still recording everything. That’s why they call the camera the unblinking eye.”

Her own eyes closed now, she went silent and he prompted, softly, “Mac?”

“I saw everything. Gunny’s corpse dragged down a dusty road and defiled. The men dragged from the vehicle and beaten until they didn’t resist and then their bodies mutilated. All the fallen angels and all I could do was watch.” She drew a shaky breath and looked down at her hands. “I still can’t un-see it.”

“What happened to the video?”

“Owing to the _extreme and heinous acts_ depicted, as they said, CNNi impounded it. They deferred to the local military commanders, who in turn deferred to military intelligence. At some point, the nation-building wonks at State were brought into it. Newitt and I were debriefed six ways from Tuesday and none of it ever hit the media except for the body count. No one wanted to inflame the sensibilities on the home front.”

“Jesus.”

“I get better, things go great, then something triggers and I’m back. The doctors—well, mostly, they’ve been good shills for the pharmaceutical industry.”

They sat together in silence for a few minutes, until the lights of the bullpen suddenly dimmed. Beyond the decidedly non-sound-proof glass of her office, they could hear a vacuum cleaner.

“So, this is what Nina has—“

“There’s no way anyone could have this, Will.”

_Then, what was Nina attempting to bargain with?_

He hadn’t spoken the words, but Mac seemed to have read them in his face.

“Is this why you’ve suddenly cozied up to the doyenne of detritus? My god. I thought it was just the sex. Actually, I would have preferred it was just the sex.”

“Mac,” he began, unsure of the words that would follow but desperately needing to stop this line of inquiry. 

“I don’t want to be a topic of conversation for the two of you. In any way. At any time.” MacKenzie closed her eyes, willing away whatever else had been on her mind. “No. Let’s not say anything more tonight. Thank you, Will, but I’m fine—grateful for your concern, but you don’t have to stay any longer. I don’t need you.”

 

The following day at work was like any other. Its very normalcy belied any idea that a change in EPs was imminent. The pitch meeting was unremarkable, the rundown meetings workaday. From Control, everything was business-as-usual.

After the show wrapped, however, Will had to hurry out, committed to his third and final rendezvous with Nina Howard. She had wrangled an invite to the post-screening reception of the final night of the Tribeca Film Festival. He took grim satisfaction in the fact that the red carpet had been rain-soaked, the drinks had been watery, the hot hors d’oeuvres had been icy, and the paparazzi had been in distressingly small attendance. 

The latter aspect especially pleased Will, although he tried to maintain a poker face, and visibly annoyed Nina. She saw her third wish from the genie of celebrity seemingly wasted on an event that wouldn’t net her any Page Six column inches the next morning. Of course, she and Will had to depart together, since they had arrived that way, so Will pasted affability on his face and looked forward to a speedy end to the evening.

Nina, as ever, stood ready to disappoint him.

She murmured some direction to the cabbie as they left and then settled back into the seat.

“Surprised there wasn’t a bigger presence by the press,” she said, idly checking her phone and then replacing it in her clutch. “I thought these indie films were celebrity magnets.”

“Perhaps the title threw them off. _She Monkeys._ ” 

She made some pithy response, which he ignored while rehearsing the end to the evening. The reason why he was unable (unwilling) to see her to the door of her apartment. Why this mission of civilizing had just been wasted time for them both. Why he really wanted her to just cut to the chase already and hand over whatever information she claimed to have on Mac.

After an interminable ride in unusually light city traffic, the taxi pulled alongside a curb, where the neon light reflected on the wet pavement.

Hang Chew’s.

“I thought we might have a drink, and knowing your distrust of my motives, this seemed like the—“

“You said, _three_. Three events. I acted in good faith.“

“Excellent faith, I’d say” she purred back, pressing a few bills into the cabbie’s outstretched palm. “But the night isn’t over yet. So, come on.”

“I can’t go in there with you.”

“Of course you will. You want this resolved and that is the proverbial finish line.”

She flung open the taxi door, nearly clobbering the cabbie who had scrambled around to do the same. 

He followed her out of the taxi, thinking rapidly through his options. There were none. He wanted the flashdrive—this was the cost. He would just hope that any staff members had already had their post-show drinks and departed for other weekend revelry.

“It’s going to be a damned short drink, Nina.”

“Fine by me.” 

She latched onto his arm and motor-boated him through the door, where they were instantly assailed by an off-key rendition of _You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling._

“If you’ll do the honors—dirty martini, one olive.” She handed him her card and smiled. “You’ve been such a sport, Will, I’ve got this.”

By this point, he would have acquiesced to just about anything to speed the conclusion to the evening, so he stepped to the bar briefly and returned, drinks in hand. Nina was looking across the room and, as he handed her the martini, he followed her gaze.

In the dark corner of the bar far away from the karaoke stage, a dozen or so people sat at tables. Over them, a banner proclaimed _Don’t Forget Us, Mac!_

He stood staring stupidly, the logical conclusions slowly taking shape in his brain. This was not simply an after-hours gathering of co-workers—this was a gathering with a purpose. And the purpose of this one was plainly a farewell for MacKenzie from her team. 

_Her_ team.

Not only had he been excluded from the invite list, but this just confirmed that she was, in fact, really leaving. Them. The show. _Him._

Nina leaned in and tucked a flashdrive into his hand, folding his fingers over it. With that, she sipped her martini, then casually, deliberately, dropped the glass. It hit the floor and shattered, coinciding with a pause in the music so that all the attention in the club was now trained on the two of them.

“Thanks for the date, Will.”

A dozen familiar faces in the corner of the club stared at him. Not one was smiling. Sloan half-rose, but Don took her forearm and whispered something that made her pause. Jim took it upon himself to lope forward.

“You should probably go,” Jim advised, his natural diplomacy barely blunting the firmness of the suggestion.

“What’s going on, Jim?” Will asked, though the answer seemed clear enough. 

“Some of the folks wanted to do a little goodbye for Mac—a surprise thing.”

“Jim.” Mac herself had materialized and put her hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go back to the party? I want to have a few words with Will.” 

She watched as he departed, then scuffed at the broken glass on the floor. “Can I assume the night didn’t end well?”

“Fuck, Mac. I can’t believe you’re still going through with this.” Will had recovered from his surprise in typical fashion, with anger. 

“And I can’t believe you brought her here—although,” Mac paused as the obvious answer occurred to her, “she brought you, didn’t she?” 

Nina’s actions had been so blatant that even Mac had seen them for what they were. Why hadn’t he?

“I didn’t—I mean, this wasn’t supposed to—this was supposed to have ended a different way. I was trying to help, I wanted to help.” He was stumbling badly and tried to pivot. “Whatever Nina had, whatever it was—well, here.” He passed the flashdrive to her. “See? Now there’s no reason for you to—leave.”

She didn’t say anything.

“All these people need you, Mac.” He nodded to indicate the people in the corner of the bar. “The show needs you. Charlie needs you.” He offered what he hoped resembled a wry smile. “After all, he relies on you to keep me from making an ass of myself on prime time.”

Her teeth abruptly released the prisoner lip. “Charlie—well, he’s calling this just a leave of absence—“

Will brightened instantly. “I knew he could make you change your mind.”

“Charlie changed the words to provide cover in case I did change my mind. But—thank you for this,” she added, grasping the flashdrive. She dropped a hand to his sleeve and squeezed lightly. “Thank you, Will.” 

She turned and took a step to rejoin the group. Then, turning back again, she asked, “What about you, Will? What do you need?”

“You’re going to be damned sorry you left me again.”

Nonplussed by his words, and the vehemence, she stood dumbfounded and simply stared at him.

_Left._

_Me._

_Again._

Which one should she tackle first?

The idea that leaving was a decision made lightly? 

The idea that it was personal—that she was leaving him, and not the show and her colleagues?

Again—implying she’d left voluntarily the first time—that it had been a lighthearted trip undertaken on a whim—

“Kenz!” Sloan inserted herself between the two of them and not-so-subtly nudged Mac backward while simultaneously casting a fisheye back to Will, warning him off. “Your drink got all melty, so Don’s buying another round. Thanks for stopping by, Will. See you Monday.”


	4. Since Our Last Goodbye

Sunday night a week later, Will had been two scotches in when his cell phone _ping_ -ed.

Charlie Skinner.

_Why don’t you take a couple of days off? Recommend a few days near Branford,Connecticut, see attached._

So, the following day, Will had gone where nudged and now he swung up the walk of a yellow beach cottage, the sand on the boardwalk crunching under his loafers. It was just minutes until dusk, but the window of the front room was illuminated, so he approached hopeful that this wasn’t a wild goose chase, that—

“Hello.”

MacKenzie had just rounded the corner of the cottage, barefoot and with sandals dangling from one hand. Her surprise was apparent, but she tried gamely to conceal if Will being on her doorstep was a good surprise or a bad one. 

He returned a short nod. “Hello.”

“This can’t be a coincidence.” The obvious answer occurred to her. “Charlie told you.” 

“Yeah. He knew that I—that there were things I wanted to—and that you—“

“You should feel set-up. I certainly do, seeing that it was Charlie who steered me here. ‘I know just the place for thinking,’ he said.” She forced a smile. “Well, you’re here. And I’m always glad to see you, Will, even though it hasn’t been all that long since we last spoke.” Shaking her head with unspoken amusement, she added, “You may as well come in.”

He followed her through the door and waited expectantly a few feet inside. He wanted it to be evident that he presumed nothing, that he was waiting to be asked. The room where they stood was a cozy sitting room, the bead board painted a paler yellow than the bright canary color of the exterior of the cottage. Furniture was a nondescript hodge-podge of the last three decades, belying the cottage’s experience as a rental, not a residence. 

Will wiped at the perspiration on his forehead. The room was warm and airless, which he attributed to her having been out walking the beach. If she had been home, she surely would have had the overhead fan rotating to stir the air.

As if on cue, she flipped a wall switch and the fan blades began to circle.

“How did you get here—Lonny?”

“I drove myself.”

“Oh.”

“I can drive.” 

“I remember.” Obviously, his reaction amused her further. “Something to drink? The place came well-provisioned, so there’s beer and soda—even wine in a box.” She made a face.

“What are you having?”

“Water.” She displayed a bottle. “Alcohol is just another thing I don’t need to deal with right now.”

“Water for me, too.” Actually, a cold beer sounded better but it seemed important to keep a level playing field between them in every way. She eschewed booze—he’d give it up for now, as well.

She placed two bottles of water on the counter, then locked her arms across her chest and looked down for a few moments. When she looked back up, her lower lip was locked between her teeth.

“Why are you here, Will?”

To make sure that you’re coming back.

But the actual words that came from his mouth were, “Like I said, there were things I needed to—and, anyway, I wanted to see how you were.”

“It’s only been a week.”

“A lot can happen in a week.”

“Some new peccadillo with Nina?” she snorted. “Or have you moved on to another media maven?”

“I leveled with you about Nina—Jim can vouch for me.”

She ceded the point. “Then, why—are—you—here,” she repeated, with a deliberate break between each word to convey her exasperation.

“You need to come back.”

“Ah, yes. Because—what?—oh, yes, I’ll be _damned sorry_ I left you again.” She parroted his words from the previous week. 

“I shouldn’t have said that, not that way. I’m sorry.” He did look as contrite as she’d ever seen him. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded—not a threat or anything. I just want you—not to leave.” In the lull that followed, he inserted a fatal hedge. “The show. Leave the show.”

“The show,” she echoed thoughtfully, leaning back against the counter. “Have you considered that perhaps I’m a drag on News Night? Two weeks ago, I was in hospital ER because—well, because either pain overtook pleasure or pleasure overtook pain. I accidentally mixed my meds and my liquor to a crisis amount. It’s still anyone’s guess how accidental that really was, or what set it off, or when it could happen again.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“You can’t predict that, Will. It puts the show—it puts the staff—on slippery ground. You know that it best that I go, Will. I’m in a business that demands watching horrible things sometimes, and I’m no longer up to the job.” 

“There’s a difference between voyeurism and bearing witness, Mac. You just need some perspective and some time.”

She looked unconvinced and resumed patiently, as if she was addressing a whiney child. “Also, it’s been apparent for a while—for the last year—that I cannot redeem myself in your eyes—and that my—feelings—are lost upon you. It’s begun to affect the professional relationship as well, and I don’t want to watch that crumble, too.”

“Nothing’s crumbling, Mac,” he maintained. “Everything’s fine. We’re good, you and me. The show needs you. _I_ —“ he stumbled over the next part, but hoped the hesitation would look more like vehemence than vacillation, “—need you, and I came out here to tell you that.”

She blinked, trying to comprehend the scale of his admission. “You. You’re saying that _you_ need me— even apart from the show?”

“I need you apart from the show,” he repeated slowly. “Mac, I—I need you. I’m sorry I didn’t say that sooner. You asked the other night what I needed, and I blew you off—I wanted to be the injured party. Well, that—plus there were all those people, too—but I need you. Not just for the show, but me.”

At her continued silence, he prompted, “Mac?”

She held up her index finger, begging for a moment. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier. I’m sorry for a shitload of things.”

MacKenzie glanced at the clock and he took it as a hint.

“Maybe this has been enough for tonight. Maybe this is a good start and we can take this up tomorrow. If you’re willing,” he added, still trying to read her.

“Where are you staying?”

“I saw a hotel a few miles back—“

“You don’t have a reservation?”

He shook his head.

“Will, this is the height of the season. You’d better give that hotel a call right now and see if there’s a vacancy.” She headed down the hallway, affording him some privacy for the call.

He complied, and she was right, no room at the inn. He tried another establishment, a little further away—still nothing available. A third place didn’t even deign to answer the phone. He was on his fourth call when Mac returned with a stack of sheets and a pillow. 

“This won’t be the kind of lodging you’re accustomed to, no doubt, but you ought to be able to endure it for a night.” She balanced the linens on the back of the couch.

“Thanks, Mac, but if it makes you uncomfortable—“

She overruled him. “Bathroom’s in the hall. If you’ll give me a few minutes first, you can have it all to yourself. There are extra toothbrushes in the cabinet. I mean—I don’t know if you brought a bag or anything.” She twisted her lips in a small quirky smile. “Good night, Will.”

 

The couch was a few inches short for him but not grossly uncomfortable. Nevertheless, Will found he couldn’t sleep. The heat prickled at his skin, magnified by the couch’s foam cushions and the slick mercerized sheets. Finally, he flung all the covers away and lay there, perspiring. 

Recriminations churned in his thoughts. _Had anything he said tonight made sense? Why hadn’t he said it all sooner?_ He realized now that he had, over the course of a year, pushed her to the brink with his petty antics— _was it too late to bring them back? Was he getting through to her about how important she was to the show—and how important she was to him, personally?_

A floorboard creaked in the hall, then the sound of a door closing and light spilled from the gap under the bathroom door. 

Mac, obviously. Perhaps the heat had gotten to her, as well.

Long minutes went by and he began to think that this was taking longer than usual. Well—longer than such visits normally took.

He rose and went to the bathroom door, his hand inverted to rap, until he thought better of it and simply put his palm to the door. He listened, and he could hear tight, short gasps on the other side.

“Everything okay, Mac?” He hoped his tone was light enough while still conveying some concern.

“You should go back to sleep, Will.” 

He pushed back to against the opposite wall. He could wait. He would wait, in fact, to make sure she was all right, that this wasn’t another melt-down like in the office the other day.

Finally, the light under the door doused, pitching the room back into darkness, and he felt rather than saw the door open.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m—uh, I’m sorry I woke you.” Her voice sounded thin and watery and there may have been a discrete sniffle.

“Wasn’t asleep anyway. It’s a little stuffy in here.” Major understatement, judging by the perspiration trickling down his back. “How ‘bout we get a little air outside?”

It was brighter and cooler on the deck, and the slight breeze quickly evaporated the sweat on his skin. A crescent moon shone over the water, and the surf thundered, far louder than it had seemed earlier.

“This is better.” He’d hoped for dialogue less insipid, but inspiration was scant at 1:37am and it seemed more important to say something, anything, than wait for profundity to strike. “Can I get you anything, more water or—?”

She sat on the edge of an Adirondack chair, took a deep breath, then expelled it. “Thank you, but I’m not your responsibility, Will.” 

“Jesus, Mac. When did everything get so bad? I mean—I’ve been right here, all year, and I never saw—never noticed—“ He allowed the words to trail off. “That’s on me. The not-noticing.”

He pitched a pebble out to the open beach. 

“I still don’t understand why you’re here.” Confusion and frustration finally boiled over in her voice. “I don’t know if this is you trying to guilt me into returning to the show, or if it’s some well-intentioned condescension, or another perverse amusement—“

“You’re trying to hide, Mac, and I don’t see the reason for it.” Pause. “Besides, I care.”

“Well, stop. Stop being nice to me. I don’t want sympathy.” 

“MacKenzie.” His tone was plaintive. 

“Please.” She threw up a hand. “Can we just—not argue right now? I’ve been trying to get my head on straight, trying to decide what comes next.”

“Well, barricading yourself behind grief and fear seems like a really bad idea. So let me say that I am against the self-exile option.”

That brought a small smile to her lips. “Duly noted.”

“And I really don’t want you to be—this—this—” he made a gesture.

She waited.

“Sad.” He swallowed hard. “This isn’t you.”

“I’m not the same person, not the same as when I went away—I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“I know who you are. All the important things are still the same,” he affirmed quietly. “Accomplished. Inspiring. Funny. Fragile in unexpected ways and aggravating beyond all human endurance.” He paused to ensure the phrase brought a small huff of amusement. “Brilliant. Courageous. As loyal as a fucking Saint Bernard. Indestructible, but tired, because you work so hard.” He tried to lock eyes with her. “And you are so, so very wrong about yourself right now.”

She looked away and didn’t say anything.

He let a minute go by. “It’s really late. Why don’t you give sleep another try?”

She made a wordless nod and rose, stopping when she noticed he still sat in his chair. “You’re not coming?”

“Too warm for me in there.” He made a sheepish smile. “I was desiccating. Would’ve been shrunken and shriveled by morning. ”

“Air conditioning, Will.” As if she had suddenly remembered something.

“ _Air cond—“_

“I’ve been holding out on you. The bedroom has a small unit. Come on.” She held the door open for him and her head was canted in a familiar manner. 

“MacKenzie—are you sure about this? I mean—” Except that he was unable to articulate what he meant. He wasn’t entirely sure himself. He wanted to be tactful, he wanted to be discreet, he wanted to observe the boundaries of whatever new relationship they were forging. 

_But where, exactly, were those boundaries?_

Was this the two of them sleeping together _with_ air conditioning, or was this the two of them sleeping _with each other_ with the air conditioning as a disinterested third party? 

“I’d better, um, rinse off first,” he said, indicating the bathroom. 

The bedroom was dark when he returned and he stood for a moment, enjoying the promised coolness while his eyes adjusted. He felt fresher in a clean T-shirt and boxers, less like a refugee from equatorial regions. While making no assumptions about MacKenzie’s invitation—whether this was an expedient or a proposition—he wanted to be presentable.

“Mac?”

She didn’t respond but his eyes had adjusted to the light, and he could see that she sat at the opposite edge of the bed, her back to him.

_Maybe they had both miscalculated and this was a mistake after all._

“Does my being here make things worse?”

“Of course.” 

He winced.

“Easier, too. It’s complicated.” 

“I can go.”

“Don’t. For a little while, I’d like to pretend that I haven’t made a mess of things.”

This was the moment for him to refute her words, but he didn’t. She _had_ made a mess of things four years ago.

His desire to console her was at odds with what he was feeling. He went to where she sat and pulled her up. He framed her face in his hands. It might have been awkward except for the familiarity of sense memories: the scent of her hair, the slight tensing of her shoulders, an almost imperceptible sigh as her lips parted. 

Eyes open, watching her, he moved closer, but she got there first, initiating the kiss. As he slanted his lips to hers in remembered ritual, he finally closed his eyes at the familiar taste of her. It was a gentle kiss at first, growing in intensity as they each reclaimed the same frisson of comfort and intimacy in the contact. 

“You still think we should… just sleep?” she whispered when he pulled back. 

“I think I have a lot to make up to you—and I don’t want to make any mistakes this time. Are we okay, Mac?”

“I invited you, didn’t I?”

He took that as permission to kiss her again.

Nuzzling her neck, he asked, “You’re, um, on the pill?” 

It wasn’t that he was throwing up excuses now, but there were certain realities that needed to be addressed after so long apart.

“Let’s say that Wade had a _different agenda_ , and there hasn’t been anyone else. So—no. I assumed you brought something—though hopefully not something in Nina’s favorite color—“

“I told you, it _wasn’t_ like that with Nina, I never—“

“Good. Or else I’d have asked you to rinse off with bleach instead of water.”

“We’re about to be reckless, aren’t we?” He said it with more roguishness than reprobation.

“Always my hallmark.” The remark, meant humorously, nonetheless betrayed a deeper vein of self-deprecation that struck him as tragically misplaced.

He brought his lips back to hers, making an unhurried kiss that promised more than mere physical hunger, and her head tipped back, a small whimper escaping from the back of her throat.

Working his hands under her tank, he tried to read her body, the slight coiling of nervous tension at odds with her plain desire to yield to him. Her skin was warm, flushed, and he broke the kiss long enough to lift the tank over her head. Nipping lightly again at her lips, he cupped one breast, kneading the soft, supple flesh and passing the heel of his palm over her nipple until it stiffened. 

Her slight gasp encouraged him, and she slid her hand from where she had been stroking the small hairs of his nape to his shoulder, then further down his bicep to the forearm of the hand that touched her. 

“I hope—you’re not still sensing ambivalence on my part.”

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, backing her to the bed, and curling his fingers under the elastic of the shorts she wore. He pushed them and her panties down and off in a single fluid movement.

“Still A+ in technique,” she giggled. Then, as she dropped her gaze below his belt-line, she added, “No ambivalence on your part, either, I see.”

Trailing kisses down her shoulders, he pushed her to recline and then dropped his own shorts and T-shirt on the floor. When he was beside her again, his hands skimmed down her smooth flanks, one detouring to her breast again, and the other seeking her most sensitive spot. She made a little hum of pleasure and tried to slip her legs further apart, being at once accommodating and encouraging. 

His fingers traced, then teased, the junction of her legs, slipping into the wetness that began minutes ago, at the first kiss. Finally zeroing in, he set a deliberate tattoo, breaking it only when things seemed too far along, and easing her back down only to begin anew. At the fourth repetition, she dispelled her slightly glazed expression long enough to attempt to look mock-stern. 

Quit screwing around.

He caught her drift and renewed his attentions with focus. Moments later, her eyes squeezed shut and she made a small cry. He planted gentle kisses along her chest and neck, and let the rasp of his cheek scrape her skin, a remembered sensual detail. She looked lovely, flushed and with heavy-lidded eyes, dark hair spilled all over the pillow. 

He leaned down for a deep kiss.

Then, I love you, using his eyes in lieu of his words.

He moved to the cradle of her legs and she raised her hips just enough for him to slide inside. He made a few experimental thrusts before falling into rhythm. His hands found hers and intertwined their fingers. Several minutes of gentle rocking began to devolve into something more frenetic, and her hips began to arch up and give chase to his. With a deep groan, he came, his mind numbed by sheer physical gratification and the subconscious pleasure of this, with her. 

Even with most of his weight supported by his elbows, he worried she might be uncomfortable. But when he made to move away, she held him in place.

“For old time’s sake?” she whispered in the dark.

For always. But he was fading and those words never quite made it to his lips. Nor did, It’s always been you, MacKenzie. I’ve let saying it wait too long, which was the last coherent thought he had before he shifted and rolled to his side, one arm still draped loosely over her.

Hours later, the sun woke Will. As he stirred, he felt the sheets beside him were wrinkled but cool. He pulled on clothes and padded into the kitchen. There was coffee, but no Mac.

Perhaps she was on the deck. Perhaps she’d taken a morning walk on the beach. 

Her cell phone lay on the counter, charging, and he was unsurprised that, wherever she’d gone off to this morning, she hadn’t taken it with her. Of course not. MacKenzie had always regarded her mobile phone as a concession to her line of work, not as a means of human communication.

There was, however, a note on the kitchen counter.

_I’m still sorting things. You should go back to work._

 

Nonetheless, he waited. 

When there was no sign of her by late morning, Will reluctantly took her direction and went back to the city. He left a return note in the cottage ( _Are we still okay? Call me._ ) and left voicemail ( _I really need to hear your voice_ ) to her cell phone on the drive back to the city. Then, another voicemail as he returned the car to the garage, and, finally, a two word text ( _Call me_ ) once he reached his apartment.

By the fifth call to her, made as he sat in the passenger seat of the company limo on the way to the studio, he remembered something: that although he had told her he needed her and implored her to stay, he had never told her he loved her.

Significant omission. And one not easily rectified while in the vehicle with a stranger.

As soon as he got to his office, he dialed MacKenzie’s number for the sixth time that day.

_Hi. It’s me again. There’s something I should have said earlier—something I should have said last night and this morning and in every call, and that is that, well, I love you. I never stopped. So, you don’t have to worry about forgiveness anymore. You’ve had it for a while._

 

Jim was capable, Jim was on top of things, and, deep into the second week of Jim as EP, Will hated Jim as EP. Jim Harper’s even-temper and uncanny professionalism were just more fuel to the fire. 

He wasn’t Mac. _News Night_ needed Mac.

It had been three days since Will had returned and she still hadn’t returned his calls. He was torn between not wanting to crowd her, to give her room for the soul-searching she so obviously was doing, and wanting to go physically drag her back home.

Doing nothing was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

 

“Okay, frame him up on Camera One. Guest on Camera Two, and a two-shot on Three,” Jim instructed, then, over his shoulder to Jake, “Got that?”

“Yep.”

Herb took it from there. “Okay. Roll in on three—two—we’re live.”

“We’re back and we’re speaking with Representative Troy Dickinson of Nebraska. The subject is the abatement and clean-up of toxic hazards under the Comprehensive Environmental Response, Compensation, and Liability Act of 1980, also known as the Superfund.”

“Go to Three.”

“Congressman Dickinson represents the Third District of his state.” 

“Back to One.”

“Congressman, your district contains the Cornhusker Army Ammunition Depot, where there have been some widely-reported environmental issues emanating from the munitions that were once manufactured there. What we want to talk about tonight are the allegations of groundwater contamination—“

“Go to Two.”

“—And heavy metals.”

“Actually, Will, I’m a fan of heavy metal—“

The joke fell flat and Control groaned as one, but Jake knew to get the reaction shot of Will, before switching back to Camera Two.

“—Monitoring by the EPA over the last twenty years,” the congressman finished, all but shifting his collar uncomfortably under McAvoy’s glare.

To Will’s mind, this was probably the least-inspired of _News Night_ segments, suitably shoved into the F block of a slow news day. Will blamed the entire subject on Jim Harper—Jim, who probably in his life never left a tree un-hugged or a spaniel un-patted.

“I understand the on-going EPA efforts to mitigate the contaminations of groundwater and soil, but the surrounding communities are experiencing an otherwise unexplained surge in gastric cancers, which are mostly commonly associated with exposure to toxic heavy metals like arsenic and mercury—essentially those found at Cornhusker.” Will leaned forward. “So, as one Nebraskan to another—what’s going on in Hall county?”

“Can I just say, Billy, that for a man who makes his living with his mouth, you occasionally ask the most inane questions.”

Mac’s voice through the earpiece. 

Will sat bolt upright, eyes widened and suddenly ten thousand miles away from where his interviewee ended a non-answer.

“Back to One.”

“Will,” Mac’s voice prompted. “This is the part of the interview where you speak.”

“Just another question, Congressman.” Thank god he had the cards with questions on them. “The costs for the hazard abatement are expected to exceed $32 million, and the apportionment of liability is going to stiff the taxpayers of Hall county, Nebraska, with 45 percent—“ 

Will could feel flop sweat beginning in the canyon of his shoulder blades as the guest responded.

“Herb, cue the commercial package on A-2.” It was definitely Mac’s authoritative voice. “Ready? Take it.”

The show ended abruptly, without the usual hand-off to Capitol Reports. Will extended his hand, for the perfunctory parting handshake, and Maggie Jordan appeared from the dark apron of the studio to disconnect the guest’s mic pac. 

“Congressman, if you’ll follow me,” she said, leading him away to the upstairs Green Room shared by _News Night_ and _Right Now_. 

Talking excitedly into the mic still clipped to his lapel, Will rose. “Mac. You’re—here.“ 

The array of LED panels lighting the set blinked out, and it took a few moments for Will’s eyes to readjust to the far dimmer ambient light.

“Right here.”

And she was, arms crossed, standing only a few feet away.

“You know, I’ve been trying to explain it since my first day here, from the second I saw you. I’m in love with you.” Simple declarative statement. “And no matter what you say, I’m going to be in love with you for the rest of my life.”

Loud whoops could be heard from Control.

_Shit._ Mac toggled her mic. “Kendra, kill the sound on set, please.” Looking back at him, she offered an embarrassed little smile and eased off her headset. “Sorry about that.”

He moved to come around the desk, but got tangled in his own mic pac. “When did you—and why didn’t you call me—I’ve been going crazy—“

“I’ve been the one going crazy. Thanks for, um, talking me off the ledge.”

Having finally freed himself from wires, he positioned himself right in front of her. “And you got my message?”

“Twelve, at last count, unless I missed one.”

“And you love me?”

“No way out of that.”

His _thank god_ was irretrievably muffled by the kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is bookended by two prompts from Lilacmermaid:
> 
> -What if Mac was the one who self-medicated and landed herself in the hospital?  
> -Mac tells Will that she loves him in front of the whole team.

**Author's Note:**

> _Based on a prompt by Lilacmermaid._


End file.
